Equal Trade
by ClaireVictoria
Summary: (Modern AU) Bellamy's car is in the shop, the bus is late, and it's pouring rain. Clarke has an umbrella.


It was fucking pouring. Basically the end of the world type torrential downpour; relentless winds sending stinging droplets into any soft, unprotected skin available. And of course, this was the day that Bellamy Blake forgot his damn umbrella.

Beginning of the week: his shitty car finally bit the dust. He had made due cashing in a few depts his friends owed him for rides, or stealing Octavia's motorcycle. Today, however, every option had fallen through, save for the bus. To make a shitty situation worse, it was fucking late. Or maybe it was early and he missed it. Or perhaps it just decided to not fucking show up at all. Bellamy was pissed to say the least.

His patched, threadbare windbreaker was turned up against the gales, and his arms crossed angrily. In his white knuckled fists $1.75 threatened to meld together under the force of his palms. He stood alone under a bent bus stop sign ('no bench, or cover in this shitty neighbourhood,' he thought bitterly), the heavy scents of gasoline, rain assaulting the earth, and cigarette smoke stuck to his nostrils, mixing with the biting cold.

Suddenly, it was all too much and the imposing man made a furious sound of defeat and began rifling through his pockets for his pack of smokes. He came up empty. He had been trying to quit for about two weeks, and to "help him out" his roommate Miller had taken to removing all packs from his pockets, bags, and room.

"Probably keeping them for himself, the bastard." He muttered sharply.

"What?" A rough voice came from his left. He spun around fast enough to pull something in his neck, and a small pink umbrella with rainbow polkadots came into view a few respectful feet from him. Underneath the ridiculous thing was a short (when compared to Bellamy,) blonde girl, desperately trying to keep her grip on several thick textbooks as well as her umbrella. Bellamy felt a flush creep up his face as he realized he had been caught talking to himself, but instead of feeling embarrassed he decided to take it out on this small stranger.

" _What?"_ He snarled indignantly. From her clothes and expensive books, she looked like she came from money. Probably never worked a day in her life. What did he care what she thought about him. Rich brat. "Nothing." He finished.

"Fine." She shrugged.

The silence that followed was one that is always born between two strangers doing the same thing. Three options appeared. 1. Make polite chit chat with the girl he just snapped at. 2. Do something annoying until she goes away. 3. Embrace the uncomfortable lull.

The irked cigarette-less man was just about to accept option three, when she spoke.

"Would you like to come under my umbrella?" So she was going with option one. Alright, fine.

"I'm okay." He muttered just loud enough to be heard over the rain fall. Of course nothing sounded better than being slightly more dry, but he wasn't going to tell _her_ that.

Out of his peripheral vision, he watched her roll her eyes with a practiced ease. She shuffled closer to him and raised her arm significantly to make the cloyingly colourful umbrella cover his head.

"Don't be stubborn. You're drenched." She muttered, meeting his eye and effectively silencing any protests he was about to make.

In order for both to keep dry they had to stand closer to each other than any strangers should; he put his hands uncomfortably in his pockets, unsure of what to do next. The combination of her heavy books and the added height necessary to cover them both with the stupidly colourful umbrella was getting difficult to watch. When she had to shift her arm into a better position and poured freezing water down the back of his jacket he came to the rescue.

"Let me take that." He said through gritted teeth, reaching for the matching pink handle.

"I've got it, actually." She returned, stilling her fight with the books and umbrella.

"Well, apparently you don't, cause you suck at keeping me dry." The blush that filled her cheeks brought out the first honest to god smile of the week.

She handed it off resentfully, pausing just as the trade was about to take place. "How do I know you aren't going to steal it." The set of her lips told him she was just as stubborn as him.

"I could. But, I don't think I could use it afterwards."

"Why? What's wrong with my umbrella?"

"I hate to break it to you, but it's the most ugly thing I've seen." He turned his head slightly and a cocky smile stretched his freckled cheeks.

"It's the only thing protecting you from pneumonia, so you better apologize to it."

"Never." Her laugh was infectious, causing a queer tightening in Bellamy's chest, as she dissolved into giggles and the occasional snort. His own was like thunder: a low, rumbling boom.

After a moment, she juggled the books to her right arm and reached around the bulk to present her outstretched hand. "I'm Clarke Griffin."

He shook her hand awkwardly, a his lips slightly turning up. "Bellamy."

"Y'know, Bellamy, you shouldn't smoke. That shit kills. I should know," She shifted to reveal the cover of the top book in her arms, "Pre med."

"How do y'figure I smoke, Princess?" Her eyebrows raised at the name, but left it be. The banter had distracted him from the longing, but now it was back full throttle.

She pointed a finger at the pack in his right breast pocket, barely visible. "Doesn't take a detective." The unsettleable craving suddenly leaped at the reminder, and his hands shook with the fierce desire. He reached for them and turned them around in his hands, contemplating.

"If you don't," She paused thinking of a reasonable reward for the irritable stranger, "I'll throw this umbrella away."

"I don't know if it's worth it…" He tore his eyes from cigs and met hers. "How 'bout a date this friday?"

"We'd have to invite my boyfriend, and I don't think you're his type." A rapid fire return. His heart sank.

"I'm everyone's type!" faux offence dripped from his words. "Fine fine, so burn the umbrella-"

"Donate it.'

"No one wants that thing, I'm basically a charity myself, so I vouch for the charities of the world." He addressed, shaking off the rejection with ease.

A low rumbling announced the bus with it's unmistakable reverberations, Clarke reached into her cardigan pocket to retrieve her faresaver. The bus pulled up to the curb, and Bellamy closed the umbrella while the two stood, shivering in the pouring rain awaiting sanctuary.

The doors swung open, pushing back the chill of the rain and the gloom. Bellamy made a grand sweeping gesture to usher her on to the bus. The blonde nodded her thanks and stepped into the fluorescent glow of the vehicle, lighting up her sopping hair, in a golden halo framing her pale face.

Bellamy Blake dropped the cigarette and stepped onto the bus.


End file.
